Trouble's Child

by Terry Goodkind

  Actually, it was a rather long walk, and it would be dark soon, so she would have to hurry to make it home before it was too dark to see.

  “Yeah, sure,” he said with a flick of his hand. “Go ahead. I need to go back to my car and start writing this up while I wait. I have your information from your license so if we need anything else we’ll know how to get in touch with you.” He opened his wallet. “If you think of anything else we should know, give me a call. Here’s my card.”

  The card had “Deputy A. Nolan” printed to the left of a sheriff’s badge. There was a phone number below his name. The phone number was one of those repeated numbers that stuck in her head. Sometimes numbers did that and she couldn’t get rid of them. She knew she would never have any reason to call him.

  “Okay, if I think of anything else I’ll call you,” Angela said as she slipped the card into the pocket with her driver’s license. “Do you mind me asking your first name?”

  His glare was back. “Not at all. It’s Deputy.”

  All right, then, she thought. Asshole it is.

  Because she had spent so much time waiting for the deputy and then with him and the dead woman, it was getting much later in the day than she would have liked. The light was seriously gloomy, to say nothing of the increasing snow.

  If it got dark on her, Angela wanted to be on a road rather than in the pitch-black woods. She carried a small flashlight, but still, in the woods it would be slow slogging and dangerous.

  She knew that if she went down to the road where Deputy Nolan’s car was parked and walked home from there, it was quite a distance, because the road first wound around a mountain to the south before coming back up north and then past her place. By taking a shortcut over the ridge she would get to that same road, but after it went on that loop for miles out of the way. Going through the woods over the ridge saved miles of walking.

  As she plodded up the hill, head down against the snow swirling around fir trees and blowing in her face, she spotted tracks. They went in the same direction as she was headed. After following them for a time, and because they were so clear in the fresh snow, she realized they had to be the tracks left by the wolf when it ran away as Deputy Nolan shot at it.

  When her foot displaced some of the fresh snow, she saw blood beneath the top layer of white. The wolf had apparently been hit by at least one of the deputy’s bullets.

  The farther Angela went, the closer she knew she was getting to the wolf. It was becoming clear to her that the wounded animal was bleeding and slowing down. She drew her gun and kept it out as she crossed the ridge. She didn’t want to come on an injured wolf and be defenseless if it attacked.

  As she reached the bottom of the far side of the ridge, not far from the highway, she came upon the wounded animal. It lay on its side in the snow, panting in distress. There was a good amount of blood in the snow.

  Her first thought was to put the animal out of its misery. It was clearly suffering and would not survive. She stood back and pointed her gun down at its head. One eye rolled back, watching her. She stood over it, looking into that eye. She hated to shoot the animal, but she didn’t want it to die a long, painful death, either.

  It occurred to her, then, that if she shot the wolf, Deputy Nolan, just back over the ridge, would hear the shot. He would come to investigate. Then she would be caught carrying a concealed weapon. Even if he let it pass, which she seriously doubted, she would have made herself noteworthy. That was something she always avoided. She didn’t want that to change now, just to put this creature out of its misery.

  Carefully, experimentally, she squatted down while still holding the gun pointed at the animal, and slowly reached out.

  The wolf didn’t move. It lay panting, watching her as she ever so slowly put a hand to its heaving chest and gently stroked the fur.

  She expected a protest of some sort, even an attack, but there was nothing. It was as if the animal watching her was saying, I’m finished. Go ahead and do what you will. I don’t have it in me to stop you.

  She found herself mesmerized by stroking the warm black fur.

  “I’m sorry you were hurt,” she whispered to it. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

  The big dark eye continued to watch her, but the wolf made no move to defend itself.

  “I suppose it’s my fault. I’m the one who called the police. I’m so sorry that jerk hurt you.”

  As she was stroking the black fur, the wolf let out a sigh, as if comforted at least a little by Angela’s gentle touch and soft words.

  She let out a sigh of her own. “What am I going to do now? I can’t leave you here to suffer.”

  Listening to her voice seemed to reduce the panting.

  Angela slowly stood, trying not to alarm the creature.

  “I’ll tell you what. I’m going to go home and get my truck. If you will let me, I’ll take you to a vet and get you some help. All right? Will you let me help you?”

  In answer, the wolf let out a soft whimper.

  Angela knew better than to ascribe human reactions or understanding to animals, especially wild animals, but in this case she was willing to take it for a yes.

  Angela held her coat closed and the lamb’s wool collar tight against her neck and ears as she hurried along just beside the shallow ditch. The road would eventually run past her place, so she knew she wouldn’t get lost. Since traffic was rare on the remote road, she didn’t worry too much about covering her ears and not hearing a car. There was no hunting or logging allowed in the vast preserve surrounding her place, leaving little reason for anyone to use the road or be out there unless they were taking a back way to or from the small village of Bradley.

  She supposed that was one reason the killer had used the desolate area to murder Kristi Green and dump her body out here. It wasn’t the first time a body had been dumped in the woods around Milford Falls and it wouldn’t be the last.

  Angela was a bit surprised when she saw the lights of a car coming from behind. As it drove past and its lights reflected off the snow-covered road and trees, she saw that it looked like a Lincoln that was several decades old.

  The old, boxy car slowed to a stop. As it began backing up, Angela put her right hand under her coat and gripped the handle of her Glock. She could see that the car was a light tan color with a darker tan vinyl roof. The rocker panels beneath the doors, along with the lower part of the fender behind the rear wheel, had been eaten away by rust.

  As the car slowly backed up it stayed toward the center of the road, rather than backing close to her. The brakes squealed as the old car rocked to a stop. Angela gripped the gun tighter, but didn’t draw it. If this was a guy getting a bad idea at seeing a woman all alone on a lonely road, he would soon discover just how bad the idea really was.

  The passenger door creaked and popped in protest as it opened. When it did, the interior lights came on and she could see there were two people inside.

  The driver was a frumpy woman with a head of thin, frizzy hair. She had on a collarless pale blue dress with little flowers all over it. It was the kind of dress that looked like it had been found at the bottom of a box in a thrift store. Because the dome light was behind her, her face was in shadow.

  The passenger was a middle-aged man in a dark suit, black shirt buttoned all the way up, and no tie. Both his hands were resting over the head of a white cane standing up between his knees. He was wearing dark glasses. It was already dark out.

  Angela realized by the dark glasses, the white cane, and the way the man’s head moved to hear sounds rather than look toward their source that the man was blind.

  He smiled as he leaned out a little into the snowy night. When he did, she could see that in front of long sideburns he had a large cross tattooed on each cheek. His full head of straight black hair had been slicked back with a comb through styling gel.

  “It’s an awful night to be out in the weather,” he called out into the snowy night. He was looking off at nothing, the way a b
lind person would, not knowing exactly where she was.

  “I’m fine,” Angela called back. “I’m enjoying the first snow of the season.”

  “It came up pretty quick. Maybe quicker than you expected? May my sister and I give you a lift to someplace warm and safe?”

  Angela stood in the swirling snow, wishing this car would leave. She at least felt better knowing that she was armed.

  Being the daughter of a meth addict, she knew she was a freak. She was a girl born broken. That was the reason she rarely felt anything, rarely cared about anything, but when she looked back over her shoulder she felt a pang of empathy for the wolf lying wounded in the snow.

  It was an innocent victim, much like the dead woman. Now, it was suffering. The longer it took her to get back to the animal and then get it to help, the less its chances of survival would be.

  “If you don’t mind, I guess I could use a lift.”

  The man reached out with his cane and tapped the tip on the back door. “Come on, then. Get in.”

  Angela slammed the heavy door behind her as she climbed into the overly soft backseat. The inside of the car smelled musty, but the warmth felt good on her throbbing cold face.

  “I’m Reverend Clay Baker,” he said, turning his head only a little without looking back at her as the car started forward. “This is my sister Lucy.”

  “I’m Angela. Thanks for the lift. My house is up the road a few miles, on the right. You can drop me there.”

  “What are you doing on foot so far from home at night, in a snowstorm no less?” he asked.

  “I have a day off, so I went for a hike through the woods. I … got distracted off the path and didn’t realize how late it was or how far I was from home. But the road leads back home so I knew I couldn’t get lost.”

  “Ah,” he said with a nod. “A lot of young people get distracted these days and stray off the path.” He chuckled at his own double entendre.

  Lucy, hands at ten and two on the big, thin-rimmed steering wheel, stared ahead as she drove into the heavy snow. Lucy struck Angela as a timid, apprehensive woman. She seemed more than a little cautious about driving in the snow. Angela wished she would hurry it up.

  “What is it you do for a living, Angela, if I may ask?”

  “I have a courier service and I also tend bar.”

  “Ah,” he said again. “We are couriers, too, of a sort.”

  Angela frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “We are a traveling ministry. We were just in Bradley for the day, but we have been staying at the Riley Motel in Milford Falls for the last month or so. Milford Falls is a much bigger place with a larger need.”

  The Riley Motel, just up the hill from where Angela tended bar, was a dump used by the hour by hookers and by transients who stayed by the week.

  “You mean you don’t preach at a church?” she asked.

  “We bring the word of God to those who otherwise might not have the chance to hear it. Churches are limiting. We bring God out to those places where the people are.”

  Angela already wanted out of the car. “You are both ministers, then?”

  “I am the minister,” he said. He laid a hand on his sister’s shoulder as she stared ahead into the snow, wheeling the big Lincoln down the narrow, winding road. “Lucy is the sighted one. She used to work in a hospital, but after I lost my sight in an accident, she has devoted her life to helping me in our calling.”

  He had a Southern accent mixed with an evangelist’s practiced tone. But it was the big black cross tattooed on each cheek that really made him distinctive. That was true commitment.

  Angela had a large, distinctive tattoo across her throat. She knew a thing or two about true commitment.

  As she watched the dark forest gliding past to each side, she cast about for something to say into the dragging silence. “Lucy, it must be interesting watching your brother in his work.”

  Reverend Baker lifted his left hand out, palm up. Lucy put her fist in his cupped hand and started making a series of rapid movements. Angela immediately realized that it was some kind of sign language.

  She was trying to figure out their odd relationship when he said, “Lucy is a mute. She hears, but can’t speak. I am her voice. She is my eyes. Lucy lost her voice to cancer of the vocal cords. Now she is able to speak to me through our hands. She says in answer to your question that it is a blessing for her to be at my side and see the chosen welcomed into God’s embrace.”

  “That’s nice that you have each other.”

  Reverend Baker nodded as he stared off into his blank vision. “Yes, it is a blessing. I believe that God wants us together in our calling and so He afflicted us each in ways that meant we could only accomplish His work if we work together.”

  Angela realized that since he couldn’t see, Lucy couldn’t use conventional sign language. He wouldn’t be able to see her signing, so she used the odd language of letters or words signed into his hand.

  “Do you know God, child?” he asked in a thin, rising tone without looking back from the front seat.

  “I’ve met the devil on a few occasions.”

  Being a freak of nature from all the drugs her mother took, Angela had been born with the strange ability to recognize killers and know what they had done by looking into their eyes.

  He chuckled at her answer and was apparently so taken by it that he didn’t press the issue.

  In the snowy light from the headlights, Angela at last spotted her driveway. She hurriedly leaned against the front seats and pointed forward between them.

  “There. That’s my drive up there on the right. You can let me out there, please.”

  Lucy rolled the big Lincoln to a stop in front of the cable stretched across Angela’s drive.

  “We can drive you up to your house,” Reverend Baker offered.

  Angela wanted out of the car and away from these two, and she certainly didn’t have time to have them come up to her house and preach the gospel to her.

  “Thanks, but it’s not necessary.” She popped open the door. “I can walk up to my place before I would get the cable unlocked.”

  He turned enough for her to see the big black cross tattoo on his cheek. “You watch out for the devil now, will you?”

  He had no idea.

  “I always do. Thanks again for the ride.”

  Angela slowed and parked her truck at the edge of the road. She would still have to hike quite a ways through the woods to get to the injured wolf. She felt a sense of urgency and wondered if she was being foolish going to all this trouble for a wild animal that would probably die anyway.

  With the heavy cloud cover there was no moon or stars, so that once she switched off the engine and killed the headlights the world became an oppressive void of total blackness. It felt a little frightening.

  Once she had locked her truck, Angela switched on the light on the headband she wore over a knit hat. The headlamp would allow her to have her hands free. If for some reason the light on the headband failed, or she fell and broke it, being all alone in the woods at night in total darkness in a snowstorm could easily be fatal, so she had a backup flashlight in her pocket as well as a small light on her key chain.

  Without hesitating she plunged into the woods. She had hiked these woods since she had been a little girl, but that would be of no value in the dark. The falling snow lit by the light on the headband was disorienting, but at least the light allowed her to see well enough not to walk into a tree.

  The cold air felt brittle. Every time she exhaled it made a cloud around her face. Even though her footprints from earlier had been covered over, they left depressions in the fresh snow that she was able to follow.

  Slogging through the snow was tiring, but those footprints from earlier led her right back to the wolf.

  She was relieved to see that the animal was still alive. She could see by the marks in the snow that it had tried to get up, but in the end it had fallen back onto its right side, the way she had left it t
here earlier.

  Angela spotted ravens up in the tree branches, patiently waiting for their meal to expire.

  Patches of snow had started to collect on the wolf’s fur. If it died, the carcass would quickly freeze and drift over. She wanted to try to keep that from happening.

  “Okay, here’s the deal,” she said as she slowly squatted down, gun in one hand. “I want to help you, and I think I can, but you’re going to have to let me help you.”

  He followed her movements with the one eye that faced up. The other was on the underside of his head, in the snow.

  “If you attack me, I will kill you.” She waggled the gun where he could see it. “I mean it. You try to bite me and I will shoot you in the head.”

  She didn’t really believe he could understand a word she was saying, but she hoped the sound of her voice would be enough to calm him. She tried to make every movement slow and deliberate, the tone of every word nonthreatening.

  She carefully reached out to stroke his fur the way she had earlier. Now, she could feel him trembling. That really hurt her heart. With him unable to move, the cold was settling in on him.

  She pulled the blanket down off her shoulder and held it up before the animal. “See what I brought? You’re too heavy for me to carry, so what I want to do is get you onto the blanket and then drag you across the snow to my truck. I think the blanket will make it pretty easy to slide you across the snow. Plastic would slide better, but I think that might stress you too much. I think you’d rather lay on a soft blanket. Am I right?”

  Angela gently stroked the animal’s fur as she talked to him, hoping to get across the idea that she meant him no harm, that she was going to try to help him.

  His mouth was open as he panted, and she saw that he had awfully big teeth. She was acutely aware that she was very close to a very dangerous animal. She didn’t want him using those teeth on her. She would hate to have to shoot him, but if he attacked her, she would not hesitate.

  “Okay, what do you say we get this show on the road?”

  She laid the blanket out behind the wolf’s back, then gently started pushing some of it into the snow and under him. That alarmed him enough that he suddenly started scrambling to try to get up. Angela jumped back. The wolf struggled briefly, his legs wobbling, then collapsed back down onto his side.